


His Empress

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: Who knows what Solus saw in the woman he chose to be his empress?  Strong rather than beautiful, she proved to be a good match for him as he forged the republic into an empire.He called her his "beautiful soul."





	His Empress

**Author's Note:**

> This is really angsty. No happy endings here, sorry.

She couldn’t help but wonder what he saw in her, this rising young star of a legatus. What would make him stop his magitek carriage, stop the whole parade in his honor, to speak with her, to learn her name and family. She wasn’t anything special, not really. Pure-blooded Garlean, but that was all you could say for her, not particularly tall or beautiful or brilliant. Her best attributes being her tolerance for pain and more strength than most women could boast… she couldn’t help but fear it was all just a prank, a joke at her expense that she couldn’t quite figure out. But who of her friends would have enough sway to manage something like this?

When he came calling within the week, she couldn’t believe it. Her father had been having a nightmare week, dealing with the fallout of the sudden attention directed at her, so she’d expected he would react poorly. But either this young Solus was impressively charming, or his arrival was so auspicious it reversed the older man’s mood; he came grinning to her room and implored her to give him a genuine chance. And when Solus told her that he had been stricken dumb at the sight of her and asked a chance to court her, she finally found herself with the forum to ask the question that had plagued her since their eyes had first met.

“Why?”

He seemed taken aback by the question. Had he assumed she would be overawed by his presence? So flattered by the offer that she wouldn’t wonder at its source? But after his initial reaction, he let his obsequious demeanor fade, regarding her steadily.

“My first glimpse of you… arrested me. Brought everything within me to a stop, as I reeled, wanting, needing to get to know you.”

She smiled. He seemed genuine, but she wasn’t blind. “I’m not so much to look at as that, my lord.”

But he waved her objections aside. “Not your form, my dear. No, such things do not really catch my interest, I assure you. It is… hard to put into words. Something about the eyes, about the way you perceive the world. When I look at you, I see… heavenly blue.”

She hadn’t expected a poet, and her heart beat faster in her breast despite her resolve to remain distant. She did not agree to court him, but she did agree to meet with him again. And again. And again… and then she did agree to courtship.

Of course, the detractors called her a conniving wench. A seductress; for what must she have done in private to win his heart so thoroughly when she was so plain? But Solus cared not a whit what others said, and she found his unshakable self-confidence not only attractive, but contagious. She learned first to shrug off the insults, then—to Solus’s delight as well as her own—to redirect them with a subtlety she wouldn’t have guessed she possessed. Between her blatant unconcern and Solus’s growing influence, the insults petered out in favor of attempts to court her favor.

As she grew closer to Solus, it became clear to her that he had a plan, long laid out steps he followed both for his own sake and for all Garlemald’s. So she watched and listened and pieced together what she could until he took her at least partway into his confidences, if only to keep her from stepping on his toes. And so it was that the closer he came to forging a nascent empire, the farther apart they became. Of course, the crows descended, every magpie wanting a piece of that bright shiny power. The bitterness between the two grew, and soon she was approached by a cadre of his close friends, a group who felt his way was not the best way forward, seeking her help to check his growing power and popularity. For a time it seemed the two would be permanently put apart.

The treason planned by this group was discovered not long before he was to become dictator. She escaped their fate by virtue of being naught more than a pawn in their schemes, and his ascension to the throne was secured. Upon the event of his coronation, though, only two people in the Imperial Republic were not shocked when he announced that she had but played a part to expose the disloyal and reaffirmed their engagement. Of course the murder of crows was furious… but what could they do? Who among them could claim such loyalty to him that they would suffer such indignity to protect him? Who could claim they held his best interests in their hearts? And who could boast the genuine affection he showed her?

Their wedding was the thing of storybooks, and even the jealous and bitter, those who had thought they had a chance, could not deny it was an event that would be remembered so long as the Imperial Republic stood. So their reign together began. And it was not long before she sought him out in the privacy of their chambers, and the fear in her arrested him again.

“What is it?” he asked her, and took her into his arms.

“I have just returned from a visit to the medicus. It seems I am pregnant.”

He held her out to look at her, beaming. “But that’s wonderful! That’s just what we were hoping.” Her wan smile did not warm him. “So why aren’t you happy?”

She clung to him, tears springing into her eyes. “Solus, I don’t know how to be a mother. I never knew mine, you know. What if…”

He crushed her close. “My love, my beautiful soul, we have the best medical care on the star here. The medici will ensure your health. Please, don’t worry.” His gentle fingers drew the tears from her cheeks, lips teasing a smile from hers. “As for being a mother, you’ll have plenty of help with that, never fear. The best nannies, the best tutors. Nothing but the best for our children.”

She drew a deep breath. “I know, I know, I’m being foolish. But, fates preserve me, I can’t help it.”

“Of course you can’t,” he agreed tenderly. “To face childbirth knowing you lost your mother to the very same takes a bravery few can boast. You have always had that strength that refuses to give into fear. I know you will overcome this.”

She smiled at him, fingers twining with his. “Oh, how do you always know what to say to lift my spirits?”

But he didn’t answer, just drawing her toward the bed.

When the time came his words proved true; the birth was not easy, but both mother and son came through healthy. And she was privileged to see the wonder, the joy, on his face when he held his son for the first time. She treasured it, secreting it away in her heart as one of the few precious moments where he seemed genuinely _ there, _ fully engaged in the present. But children grow fast, and their son was no exception. And he grew _ tall, _ too, more so than either of his parents would have foreseen. And when he died tragically young, barely married, it devastated them.

They dealt with it in vastly different ways, Solus throwing himself into work, seeing to his new grandson’s care and upbringing but by proxy, always from a distance. No more the closeness he’d had with his own son. And she withdrew entirely, emerging rarely from her rooms, reported to weep day and night for her only child.

He found her one day on the bed he had had to himself since their son’s illness became terminal, shoulders shaking in agonized silence. She heard his steps stop for a second before continuing to his desk, and at the rejection her head came up.

“Why don’t you weep for him? Did you ever really love him?”

When he didn’t respond, she dragged herself from their bed, clothing rumpled, hair in careless, unkempt disarray. Cheeks hollow, eyes dark and bruised.

“I have an empire to run,” he responded at length.

She just stared at him, dull-eyed, her tears spent—at least for the present.

He sighed. “This… this broken world will do naught but strike us down every time we care too much about it. How can I? How many pieces of myself can I invest only to watch them die?”

This seemed to strike a chord in her, and she reached out, clutching his shoulder.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. That was a cruel thing for me to say.” He gave her a terse nod, obviously dismissive, and she let her hand fall. She turned to her rooms to clean herself up, stopping at the doorway. “I hope you can forgive me someday.”

Slowly the grief faded to a background ache, though things were never quite the same. She took a personal hand in her grandson’s upbringing, though whether because of the pain their similarity brought or because of Solus’s words, she never held him quite as closely or warmly as she had her own son. She bore also a fragility, a weakness where she had always stood so strong. Though she worked hard to busy herself, the toll showed upon her, and slowly a wasting disease took hold of her, consuming her slowly but inexorably.

He paced her bedside, this strong woman now so weak she could not sit unaided.

“Why aren’t you fighting this?” He pulled at his hair; only in private would he show such emotion. “You are strong. I _ know _ you are. Stronger than this!”

She made a soft coughing sound. A laugh. “Oh, Solus… Strength only gets us so far. I know that well. Without hope, without a future, strength has no power.”

He turned, taking her hand, so carefully. “Please, won’t you do it for me? For your grandson?”

“_My _ grandson?” Her mind was still sharp; she did not miss his words. “You’ll have to take some personal stock in the boy, Solus. I won’t be around to.” She shook her head weakly. “This broken world… Even I can only stand up so many times, my love. Every time, it seems I leave part of myself behind.”

He recoiled at her words. “Don’t say that. My beautiful soul… don’t leave me just yet.”

She smiled weakly. “You don’t need me any more. I love you.” She managed to lift a hand, brush his cheek.

Her condition deteriorated quickly, despite the medici’s best efforts, and far too soon Solus found himself clutching her hand again. As though he could anchor her to life by the force of his will.

“I hear her calling…” she whispered, eyes gleaming with tears as she reached out to something only she could see. “Mother…” The hand fell slowly, softly to the covers, her chest falling one last time as her soul departed. He stared at nothing, seeming to watch it drift away, and the medicus would later swear he saw a weight settle upon the emperor’s shoulders at that moment, bowing him permanently. But Solus had an empire to run, and if he shed tears for his wife, he did so only in the absolute privacy of his chambers.


End file.
